Wild Hunger (The Phoenix Pack #7)(62)

“Sorry, sweetheart, but you need to come with me.”

“Not gonna happen.”

He moved fast. Wicked fast. His fist slammed into her jaw, dazing her. “Shame I had to mess up that pretty face,” he said. Whistling again, he dragged her toward the vehicle, but her bad leg crumpled and went out from underneath her. It caught him off guard, and he stumbled as she fell onto her back. Leaning over her, he sighed. “Do you have to be awkward?”

She thrust her claws into his abs, stabbing deep, scraping bone. “Yes.” He let her go so abruptly that the back of her head hit the concrete with an awful crack. Her head swam and nausea curdled in her stomach.

“Fucking bitch.”

A boot slammed into her stomach, knocking the breath right out of her. She curled up, hissing. Her wolf went ape-shit and lunged for the surface, but then sharp claws pressed against Frankie’s throat hard enough to break the skin. Both she and her wolf froze.

“I’m done playing,” he said. “Now, we’re going to get into the fucking car and go somewhere quiet. Somewhere where we can have some privacy. Won’t that be nice?”

Um, no. She knew deep down to her bones that if she left with him, she’d be dead within the hour. But there was no way of fighting back without getting her throat slit open. She forced her voice to shake as she said, “I’ll go with you. I won’t struggle. Just don’t kill me. Please.”

He beamed at her. “So polite. I like it when they beg. Wait until I tell your boyfriend how you begged for me. Ooh, he’ll sure as shit hate that. Now, sheathe those claws for me. That’s it. See, following orders isn’t so hard.” He dropped his claws from her throat and yanked her to her feet by her arm—fuck if that didn’t hurt. That was when she slammed her forehead into his nose. The animalistic sound that came out of his throat was a mix of anger and pain.

Even as her head pounded, she pulled free of his hold and snatched the hammer from the peg on the wall. She swung it at his head. A slight vibration shot up her arm as the hammer connected with his skull. He staggered with a pained grunt, hand flying to his head.

Knowing there was no sense in running, Frankie slowly took jerky backward steps, careful not to lose her footing. Hammer still in one hand, she unsheathed the claws of her other, waiting.

He glared at her, eyes cold, mouth twisted, blood running from his broken nose. “You’ll pay for—” He stiffened. They could both hear the mad rumbling of a car engine and the squealing of tires.

She smiled. “Here comes Trick.”

His eyes widened as he peeked outside. “Fuck!” He looked like he might make another grab for her, so she swung the hammer once more. She missed. But he swore and—clearly deciding she was more trouble than she was worth—scrambled into his car and reversed out of the studio fast. Then he sped away, out of sight, leaving a cloud of dirt in his wake.

Letting the hammer drop to the floor with a clang, she hobbled to the doorway and watched his car disappear down the road mere moments before an SUV paused just long enough for Trick to jump out. Then the SUV was gone, chasing the other vehicle.

Maybe it was the adrenaline crash or maybe it was the relief at seeing him, but both her legs gave out, and her ass hit the floor. Trick crouched in front of her and cupped her face. Even though his eyes were hard and his face was set into a mask of fury, she’d never felt safer.

Trick’s heart slammed against his ribs as he got a good look at her. Her jaw was bruised, pain was etched into every line of her worryingly pale face, there was blood spatter on her clothes, and . . . “Fuck, why is blood dripping down your neck?”

She lifted her chin slightly so he could better see the puncture wounds. “His claws pricked my throat; the cuts aren’t deep.”

Trick saw that she was right, but it didn’t calm him whatsofuckingever. His wolf predictably lost his shit and charged at Trick, demanding the freedom to stalk his mate’s attacker. Trick fought him, focusing on Frankie. Vengeance could come later. “Where else are you hurt?”

“Leg. Ribs. Back of my head. I don’t think I’m bleeding anywhere other than my neck.”

“You’re wrong,” he growled as his hand gently probed the back of her skull and he felt a sticky warmth and one hell of a lump.

She winced. “Fucking ow.”

Hating that he’d hurt her, he kissed her forehead. “I need to get a look at your stomach.” He gently peeled up her T-shirt and spit a curse at the black-and-purple bruise that was starting to form. A growl vibrated his chest. “I’ll kill him. I’ll fucking kill him.”

“It was Drake.”

“I know. I can smell him.” The scent of the bastard was driving his wolf almost as crazy as the scent of her blood. “Marcus is chasing his ass.”

“He wanted to take me with him.”

It struck Trick that if he’d been even a minute later, Drake would probably have had her in his grasp right then. That thought was enough to make his breath catch in his throat. “You said your leg was hurt. Which one?”

She gently touched her calf. “I don’t know what’s wrong with it. He clipped it with the car.” She almost jerked in surprise as his claw sliced open the leg of her jeans without even grazing her skin. Damn, her calf was swollen and bruised, and she thought it was possible that the hit had fractured something. “Shit. Well, at least the sculptures are okay.”